Carve the Crimson Road
by Swordchucks
Summary: Set midway through season 4, Xander makes a deal with the devil, of sorts.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, etc. Even the ideas are  
probably things I've read and half forgotten. Joss owns Buffy, Xander,  
and crew.  
  
Spoilers: Late season 4. If you know who Adam is, that's about all  
there's going to be. It's kinna nonspecific.  
  
Summary: Making a deal with the devil, of sorts. The final battle  
against Adam, maybe?  
  
Author's Notes: This is my very first attempt at writing Buffy fiction,  
and I'm sure it shows. Also, three points goes to the one to get the   
origin of the title ;) I hope that's all that needs to be said.  
  
***  
  
Riley was dead.   
  
At least, I've never seen someone with their neck twisted at that angle  
and still be alive. Not anyone human, at least.  
  
Though I couldn't say I was doing much better. At least two of my ribs  
were broken, I'd heard the sickening snap when I was thrown against the  
ground earlier. Of course, that probably wasn't the least of my  
problems. The battle still raged on a few dozen feet away from my  
little patch of bloody ground.   
  
Buffy was almost holding her own against Adam, but I knew that it  
couldn't last. So many times, I've watched her fight, and I know when  
she is tiring. She had done well to avoid his skewer for this long,  
but, I realized with a cold dread, it was only a matter of time before  
she slipped up.  
  
This was the way it always went, I thought. We'd all get our butts  
kicked and then the calvary would arrive to save us.   
  
Only, this time, the calvary wasn't coming. They were all  
incapacitated and one of us had died. Actually died.  
  
Willow was... she was in the hospital. Yesterday, Adam's vampires had  
attacked us en mass. Anya, Giles, and Willow were taken out of action  
leaving just myself, Riley, and Buffy to face the Frankenstein demon  
from hell. Hell being synonymous with Sunnydale.  
  
Now, I was going to get to watch the bastard kill Buffy before he  
finished me off and then started on humanity in general.  
  
I stopped to cough up blood with a sickening rattle and a wheeze.  
  
Finally, it happened. Weary, Buffy didn't dodge as quickly as she  
should have and he... he stabbed her. Not fatally, at least, not  
immediately so, but his spike passed through her side and she staggered  
back and slipped on her own blood.  
  
He stepped forward coolly and raised the spike for a killing blow.   
Blood dripped from the vicious tip, some of it Buffy's, some of it  
mine.   
  
The bastard hadn't even had to use any of his other abilities. Just  
his strength, speed, and that damn blade were more than a match for us.   
And now it was over.  
  
Somehow, I was on my feet and lurching forward in a shambling run. I  
cried out wordlessly, and Adam looked up just in time to see me run  
headlong into his side, making him take a full step back.   
  
Quite possibly, it was the most damage we'd done to him this entire  
time.  
  
Then there was curiosity in his eyes as his free hand wrapped around my  
throat and lifted me into the air.  
  
"Curious. You know that you cannot harm me, and yet you throw yourself  
in front of me." His eyes are piercing into me, their malevolence  
making me cringe as much as the pain and fear. "The girl you think to  
save her by sacrificing yourself." He looked down at Buffy, then, whose  
wound still had her on the ground. "Humans are foolish and weak."   
  
With that, he raised that evil blade and brought it down in a killing  
stroke, skewering me straight threw the heart. His other hand released  
my neck and I could feel myself, wrapped in agony, sliding down and back  
on the blade, falling down.  
  
I was dead, my brain just wasn't ready to admit it yet.  
  
Somehow, I knew it was going to be my last thought. I wanted to die  
thinking that I'd saved her, but it wasn't true. I'd failed. Red  
tinged my vision. "I love you Buffy... I'd give anything.. If only... "  
And then everything went white.  
  
***  
  
The white cleared and I was still staring into Adam's face.   
  
"I'm in hell... I'm dead, and I'm in hell."  
  
The pain was gone, somehow, and I watched in wonder as I continued to  
drift backwards. Well, part of me fell backwards, anyway. I could see  
the rest of me still impaled on that wicked barb, frozen at an  
impossible angle.  
  
I settled to the ground, almost as though I was floating instead of  
falling. After a few blissful seconds in which I savored the lack of  
pain, something that had become rather much the rule for the last hour  
or so, I sat up and looked around.  
  
The room was the same as before, just... frozen. I realized suddenly  
that the red bit in the air in front of me was a droplet of my own  
blood, stopped in mid plummet.  
  
"What's going on?" I asked, more to myself than anyone else.  
  
"You called me." I felt it more than heard it. A voice as deep as the  
roar of an earthquake and as old as time itself.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You wish to save the girl. I offer you the power."  
  
"What can I do? I'm dead..." I might have tried to deny that fact  
before, but sitting here, looking at several inches of bony spike  
protruding from my spine, dispelled any illusions I might have had.  
  
"What has been made can be unmade, and what has been unmade can be  
remade."  
  
"You want to remake me?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"You need me. I need you."  
  
"I don't need you, pal. Whoever you are." There's nothing more  
annoying than talking to a disembodied voice. Believe me.  
  
"You would let the woman you love die?"  
  
"Woman I..." I looked down at Buffy. Yes, I did love her. Which was  
probably why my body was on it's way to becoming worm food. "No."  
  
"You will accept my offer?"  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"A god."  
  
"A what?"  
  
"A god."  
  
"The God?"  
  
"Perhaps. There are others of my kind still, though I am perhaps the  
only one who still has the strength to form a voice."  
  
"So, you will help me if I help you? What do you want from me?"  
  
"Worship."  
  
"So... you want me to hang around airports giving out flowers and  
pamphlets and stuff?"  
  
Something like thunder sounded from all around me. Divine laughter?  
  
"No."  
  
"What if I refuse?"  
  
"Then you die."  
  
He had me there. Well, I think it was a he, but who can tell with  
gods? I spared one last look at Buffy in her frozen posture on the  
bloody ground. For her, I'd give anything, even my soul.   
  
"I'll do it."  
  
"You must be remade."  
  
"How?"  
  
"You will see."  
  
And I did see, though I wish I hadn't. There isn't much I remember  
about what happened after that, except that I went through what is  
probably the most agonizing experience that anyone, anywhere has ever  
had.  
  
Imagine being a raw piece of steel plunged into white hot flame and  
then pounded into a sword. Now, imagine if that sword had a human's  
sensitivity to pain and heat. That's what I went through in that  
timeless place between the moments where the god had grabbed my spirit.  
  
Sometime during the ruthless reforming, the world went white again.   
  
***  
  
The white cleared for a second time, and I was staring into Adam's face  
again. Those cold eyes filled with an intellect both familiar and alien  
at the same time.   
  
The pain was gone. Though the pain of my body was as nothing to the  
pain my spirit had just gone through.   
  
There was a sudden sizzle and flash and I was on the ground. Adam  
stared, dumbfounded, at the scorched end of his weapon which had been  
melted clean through.  
  
I raised one hand gingerly to my chest and felt the hole in my shirt,  
but underneath was only hot, tender skin. No gaping hole, think God. Or  
god, rather.  
  
Conscious suddenly that I was again in a fight for my life, I lurched  
to my feet. Or, at least, I'd intended to lurch. My body translated  
this into a graceful rise, somehow.  
  
Adam looked at me, shocked. "You are not human," he said,  
matter-of-factly.  
  
"Maybe not," I admitted. Hell, I still don't know what I am now.  
  
Then the fight was on. He dove at me, claws and broken blade  
stabbing. My body dove back agilely and avoided his attack easily.   
  
When I say "my body", I mean, I intended to get out of the way. It's  
just that, when I do it, it tends to be a "scramble" instead of a  
"dodge". Somehow, I was a lot more agile and faster than I had been  
before.  
  
I looked down to notice my right hand had closed about a golden disk on  
my left wrist. The disk was definitely new.  
  
Almost instinctively, I pulled the disk out, away from my wrist but in  
the same direction as my arm was pointing.   
  
Searing pain lanced through my arm as I felt... something... being  
pulled out. After I'd removed the thing, it became obvious that it was  
a weapon.  
  
The golden disk was at the end of a short hilt, barely large enough for  
my hand, and without a guard. The blade of the thing was only about  
eight inches long, and glistening with my own blood.  
  
This was what I was supposed to fight Adam with, I guessed.  
  
He came at me again, this time slower. I fell into a defensive posture  
with the blade at the ready. Somehow, my body had learned how to fight  
while I wasn't watching.  
  
A feint and riposte resulted in a single injury. To Adam.  
  
Not much, a single scratch to his arm, but a start.  
  
Of course, that's when things really started to get weird. The dark  
ichor Adam left on the blade seemed to glow for a second before  
disappearing. Well, maybe disappearing is the wrong way to put it... it  
looked, for all the world, like the blade drank the vile stuff, along  
with my blood.  
  
That's when the singing started. As we circled and fought, the blade  
sang a dark song of low notes, growing louder with each bit of blood it  
drew.  
  
Some five scratches and cuts later, I realized that the blade had grown  
in size, as well. It was almost a foot long, and the vestiges of a  
guard seemed to be forming at the top of the hilt. This startled me  
enough to realize that I'd been singing along with the blade, crooning  
out the dark battle hymn.  
  
We fought on for a while, Adam becoming more and more cautious, finding  
me to be a surprising opponent, though his surprise at that could have  
been no more than my own.  
  
Finally, a riposte missed and Adam leaned back, spraying a viscous  
mucous from an opening in his abdomen. The gunk splattered over my  
sword arm and began to harden almost immediately.  
  
I cursed loudly as he took the opportunity to grab me by the arm and  
slam me into the ground, resnapping a rib or two.   
  
Somehow, I twisted as I fell and threw the blade in one fluid motion,  
before his snotty attack could immobilize me. The blade passed straight  
through he diskette slot in his chest and hummed with satisfaction as  
ichor flowed from the wound.  
  
One demony hand grabbed the hilt of my blade and tried to dislodge it,  
but it wouldn't move. The weapon had declared his life for it's meal,  
and wasn't about to let him go.  
  
Finally, he fell down and the hymn grew softer and finally ceased. I  
pulled myself over to his corpse and yanked the blade free.  
  
It was perfectly clean and back to its original size. I pressed it  
against my left arm and it seemed to melt back into my flesh until only  
the large coin-like disk remained visible.  
  
I stood up shakily, my ribs causing me no small amount of pain. The  
body of the demon thing occupied my attention for a few moments. It was  
already decomposing, though I still don't know if that was due to the  
way he had died or just a demony thing.  
  
As I turned away from the mess, I found a pale Buffy staring up at me  
from a soggy bit of earth.  
  
"I didn't know you could do that," she said softly.  
  
"Neither did I." 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, etc. Even the ideas are  
probably things I've read and half forgotten. Joss owns Buffy, Xander,  
and crew.  
  
Spoilers: Late season 4. If you know who Adam is, that's about all  
there's going to be. It's kinna nonspecific.  
  
Summary: Making a deal with the devil, of sorts. The final battle  
against Adam, maybe? Aftermath, sort of.  
  
Author's notes: Well, some people actually liked my first stab at one of  
these so I'll keep it up for a while (it lets me avoid thinking about  
doing stuff I actually need to do, too, which is a plus). Hope this one  
doesn't disappoint. Also, this was conceived as a Buffy/Xander fic, and  
ends up being that way.  
***  
"Can you walk?"   
  
"I... no," Buffy said, still half supporting herself with one elbow on  
the bloody turf.  
  
"We should go... I will carry you."  
  
"You're hurt... are you sure you can do it?"  
  
"I will do it."  
  
"But can you?" I'd never seen her look at me with such concern in her  
eyes. A man could drown in those eyes.  
  
"It doesn't matter. I will do it." Somehow I sounded convincing enough  
that she didn't further protest. I grit my teeth as my damaged ribs  
lanced bolts of torment through my chest, but didn't give in. Soon, she  
was hanging limply against my back, her arms wrapped loosely around my  
neck.  
  
A brief wave of vertigo informed me that I might be overstepping the  
bounds of human endurance, but I held my position.  
  
As soon as it passed, I lurched into motion, plodding steadily for  
cover. We entered the brush line beside the battlefield only seconds  
before the roar of a vehicle sounded in the distance.   
  
I picked up my pace as a line of headlights shone behind us, the deep  
hum of military engines filling the air. The Initiative had arrived to  
pick up the pieces.  
  
I was determined that Buffy, and, to a lesser extent, myself, wouldn't  
be collected.  
  
Damn them. Damn them all. If they'd been willing to aid us in our  
battle, things wouldn't have happened the way they did.   
  
The forest gave way to a roadway after a few hundred yards, but I  
stayed within the tree line. I wasn't having much trouble carrying  
Buffy, she seemed so light.  
  
That scared me. I'm no doctor, but I do know a bit about field  
medicine from my army days. Well, it was more like a single day, but I  
still remember enough to know that she could be in serious trouble.  
  
Slayer or not, I was deathly afraid of what would happen if I didn't  
get her to a hospital quickly. I could always have turned around, but I  
wasn't willing to risk our lives with those... people.  
  
"Buffy?"  
  
She groaned weakly.   
  
"Buffy, can you still hear me?"  
  
"Xa'der?" Her voice was distant and barely above a whisper.  
  
"You've got to stay awake, Buffy."  
  
There was no response. I ignored the burning agony in my chest and  
quickened my pace, making all possible time, no longer trying to stay in  
the trees.  
  
Luck smiled upon us that night. Not more than three minutes later, the  
road bent and turned to reveal a gas station ahead.   
  
At the sight of salvation, I broke into a lopeing run, as best as I  
could manage carrying a wounded slayer and suffering from a few broken  
ribs.  
  
Time stretched to infinity as I ran, knowing that speed was of the  
essence and then, but finally, I was there.  
  
Carefully, I lowered Buffy to the ground beside the pay phone in the  
darkened lot. It was almost three in the morning and the station was  
closed.  
  
911.   
  
"Nine one one, what is your emergency?"  
  
"Please... send an ambulance."  
  
"Calm down, sir, what is the problem."  
  
"My friend... she's hurt... please, you've got to help."  
  
"Where are you, sir?"  
  
I gave her the address.  
  
"Please stay on the line, an ambulance has been dispatched."  
  
I dropped the receiver and sank to the ground. I know I had come  
across as a bit hysterical, but there was a good reason for that. I  
was.  
  
The last thing I remember is pulling Buffy to me and stroking her  
matted hair tenderly. Then the pain and torment of running almost a  
mile with severe injuries and a heavy load set in and turned out the  
lights.  
***  
Fuzzy and white. The entire world was fuzzy and white.  
  
I groaned and tried to cover my eyes with my arm, but it just proved to  
be too much work. I let it sink back the few feet, or was it inches, I  
had moved it before aborting the project.  
  
"Doctor, the patient is waking up."  
  
I was at the bottom of a well and there were people at the top talking.  
  
The haze didn't clear after a few moments, and I resigned myself to  
floating through it for a while.   
  
It was like being adrift in a warm ocean of light that gently rotated  
in some unknown gravity.  
  
Some years later, or was it minutes, I broke the surface of the waves  
and the world snapped to attention smartly.  
  
My eyelids fluttered open, blinking away the haze.  
  
White walls. White ceiling. Medicine smell.  
  
Hospital.  
  
"..." It should have been 'Where am I?' but nothing came out of my  
mouth.  
  
"Relax, Mr. Harris." Paternal voice.  
  
"Bu..."  
  
A shape leaned over me, blocking out the white ceiling somewhat.  
  
"ffy..."  
  
"Bu... ffy... Buffy?"  
  
I nodded weakly, making the world swim alarmingly.  
  
Voices turned away from me, I didn't understand them.  
  
"The girl who was with you?"  
  
"Y's."  
  
"She is resting comfortably."  
  
I nodded again, allowing the world to twist and spin again.  
  
"Just relax and get some rest. You need your strength."  
  
I didn't reply, but the world tipped sideways and once again I was  
unconscious.  
***  
The sun shone red on the field of battle. Not the deep red of the  
setting sun, but a baleful, bloody red.  
  
"Fight" The word came from everywhere and nowhere all at once. A deep  
rumble-thunder voice, like the god's.  
  
Legion upon legion of... things... snapped to attention at the  
command. As one, they turned and charged their opponent.  
  
I was that opponent.  
  
They looked like nothing so much as eyeless, mouthless children with  
great hooked claws on each hand.  
  
I fought them with my blade for an age or three. The ground was  
slippery from pools of their blood and still they came on and on,  
endlessly.  
  
Finally, the dark song of my sword drowned out the shrill cries of the  
dying creatures and not long after, the onslaught stopped.  
  
A hand on my shoulder.  
  
I spun around and stabbed, thinking one of the beasts had flanked me.   
I drove the point of my sword home, clean through the poor thing.  
  
I recognized its face, though the lack of eyes and mouth made it look  
odd.  
  
"Buffy..."  
***  
The next time I woke, the world had improved greatly.  
  
There was no haze this time. My eyes popped open suddenly, as if I'd  
been having a bad dream and finally discovered the secret to escaping  
from its hold.  
  
I could feel my body this time. There was pain there, though greatly  
masked by a layer or three of chemical relief.  
  
The room gradually shifted into focus and I saw the same white room as  
before. No doctor, no nurse.  
  
But there was a Buffy.  
  
She had apparently been sitting in a chair beside my sickbed for a  
while. At some point, she'd put her head down on the bed beside me,  
leaning forward in her chair, and fallen asleep.  
  
I sent a message to my arm, and to my surprise, it actually obeyed me  
and drifted down to stroke her hair. Soft and clean now, not like it  
had been before.  
  
She murmured at my touch and I quickly withdrew my hand before she sat  
up.  
  
"You're awake." I love those eyes, I could lose myself in them  
forever. Concern was plainly written there, as well as tenderness, and  
I drank it all in greedily.  
  
"Yeah."   
  
"I was worried..." Something else was in her eyes, not something I had  
seen before.  
  
"Thank you."  
` "For being worried about you?"  
  
"No. For being okay. And for being here when I woke up."  
  
Was that a blush I saw? No, I was still tired and quite possibly  
imagining the whole conversation. Her eyes had an odd glimmer to them.  
  
"No, thank you... for saving my life."  
  
"Yeah... well... it was my life, too." Why was I so nervous?  
  
"You're still a hero." It was my turn to blush. "I don't think I've  
ever really had a hero before."  
  
"Ah..." How do you respond to something like that? "I have."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Yeah, when I was a kid, He-Man was my hero." Why did I say that? It  
must have been the drugs because I refuse to believe that I'm that  
socially inept. Though previous evidence would seem to support either  
case.  
  
"Oh, I thought you meant in real life."  
  
"Well... there is someone..."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah..." I took a breath, those eyes seemed to be pulling me in even  
deeper. "You."  
  
"Oh..."  
  
I suddenly became very conscious of the fact that her hand was resting  
on top of mine. Warm and soft but hard as steel when she wished, it was  
almost as seductive a trap as her wonderful eyes.  
  
Silence ruled for the rest of the night. 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, etc. Even the ideas are  
probably things I've read and half forgotten. Joss owns Buffy, Xander,  
and crew.  
  
Spoilers: Late season 4. If you know who Adam is, that's about all  
there's going to be. There's a bit more now, but nothing too big.  
Summary: Making a deal with the devil, of sorts. The final battle  
against Adam, maybe? Aftermath, sort of.  
  
Author's notes: I'd like to take a moment to personally thank each and  
every one of you who read my fic. I'd like to, but there's no way I  
could figure out exactly who that was ;). So I'll settle with a general  
thank you. Here it goes. Thank you. There, makes you feel warm and  
fuzzy down inside, doesn't it? Okay, okay, even I'm not sure how much  
of that was joking and how much wasn't. Anyway, if you're spending your  
valuable time reading my work, I'm flattered. Thank you. If you take  
the time to write me a note about it, I'm even more flattered.   
  
Anyway, here it goes :)  
  
***  
  
The next morning, I was sitting up in bed, able to move my arms, more  
or less, at will. It's amazing what you take for granted in life.   
  
Buffy came to see me again, not long after I'd eaten a few bits of  
breakfast. Hospital food, yech.  
  
She walked slowly, but she was wearing her own clothes instead of a  
hospital gown (she'd had a robe on over it before) and moving with some  
of the gentle grace that I so associate with her.  
  
"Hey, Buff,"I called out happily. She smiled softly.  
  
"Brought you something."  
  
"What? For me?"  
  
There was a cellophaney crinkling noise as she produced a pair of  
Twinkies from her pocket.  
  
"The least I can do, for my hero." She winked at me.  
  
"Heh, yeah, I wonder if all heros get payed in Twinkies."  
  
She giggled softly. "I'm sure some insist on Ho-Hos."  
  
***  
  
I was able to move about somewhat, but Buffy insisted on pushing me in  
a wheelchair as we visited our friends, most of whom were in other parts  
of the hospital.  
  
It's perverse, I know, but I really enjoyed having her push me through  
those halls. Of course, this was Buffy. I greatly enjoyed just being  
near her.  
  
My joy was short lived, however. I didn't ask Buffy who we were going  
to see first, I was content to just go along for the ride.  
  
Anya.  
  
We rolled into her room not long after we left mine. It was on the  
same hall, and I guess Buffy just assumed that I'd want to see her  
first.  
  
"Xander." She looked up, surprised, as she was putting the last of her  
things into her bag. "Anya." Buffy took quick stock of the situation  
and fled to the hallway. I don't know if it was because she thought we  
wanted time alone or if she just didn't want to see me with someone  
else. I could delude myself into thinking it was the later, but it was  
almost certainly the former.  
  
The door closed softly behind me as I rolled a little farther into the  
room.  
  
"I was just about to come see you."  
  
"Thanks, but the doctor said I should try getting around a bit. I'm  
healing fast, he said."  
  
"And his orders called for Buffy, too?" Jealousy? I'm still not sure.  
  
"She didn't think I should be doing a lot of walking. And she was  
going to visit everyone, anyway."  
  
"I see..." She zipped her bag up.  
  
"So, not happy to see your boyfriend." I grinned impishly. It's a  
talent.  
  
"It's not that... I... I heard about what happened and... Xander, show  
me your hand."  
  
Puzzled, I held out my right hand, palm up.  
  
"No, the other one."  
  
I complied and she took it gently. I studied her face as she slowly  
turned my hand over and examined the gold disk still embedded in my  
wrist.  
  
"I was afraid..." There were tears in her eyes.  
  
"What's wrong, Anya?"  
  
"Xander... I'm sorry... I have to go..." She picked up her bag and  
dropped by hand. I twisted to watch her as she opened the door and  
walked out, past a confused Buffy.  
  
Buffy stared after her for a few seconds before walking back into the  
room. "What's with her?"  
  
"I don't know... but I've got a bad feeling about this..."  
  
***  
  
They released me the next morning.  
  
I wasn't completely healed, but I wasn't in any real danger. That, and  
my family's insurance had run out.  
  
I was just thankful it had lasted that long. The plan wasn't very  
good, but it did have a few nice perks. Namely, family members under 21  
living in the same house as the policy holder were covered, which meant  
me.   
  
My mother picked me up, not looking very happy about it. She's never  
been one for the whole maternal instinct thing, but that's no shock.  
  
We didn't talk much, and the ride home passed slowly.  
  
I'd like to say that climbing down the stairs to my basement domicile  
was like coming home, and it was, but only in the sense that I was once  
again going into the place where I live. Besides that, it mainly served  
to heighten the feeling of unease that had been slowly growing for since  
Anya had gone the day before.  
  
It was there. I knew it would be. Well, not "knew" as in the sense of  
"had any idea whatsoever", but I should have know.  
  
Okay, I'll admit it. What had happened between Anya and I hadn't been  
mad, passionate love. Sure, there was love there, I'm not heartless or  
anything, it just wasn't that kind of relationship. We were comfortable  
together, and the sex was great.  
  
The letter was simple and to the point, one of Anya's main traits...  
endearing sometimes, infuriating at others. She was afraid and she was  
leaving me and leaving Sunnydale. She said that she cared about me, and  
it hurt her, but she'd seen "this" before and knew it would end badly.   
  
It'd have been nice if she had told me what "this" was.  
  
I reread it a few times, trying to decide if I felt like crying.  
  
No, not really. I'd known it was only a matter of time before she  
dumped me. Self-esteem issues, much? That's me.  
  
*RING*   
  
"Xander, it's for you!"  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Xander..."  
  
"Buffy?"  
  
"Yeah... I was hoping you'd be home."  
  
"You caught me on the way out the door, I'm just about to run a  
marathon."  
  
"Funny..."  
  
"What's wrong, Buff, you seem... off."  
  
"Xander will you... tonight is..."  
  
I'd forgotten about that. It was three nights ago that Riley died, the  
funeral would be tonight.   
  
"Yeah, I'll go with you."  
  
"Thank you." Her voice was full of relief.  
  
This was going to be awkward.  
  
***  
  
I'll admit it, I'm not a suit guy.   
  
I look good in one, I just tend to associate wearing one with being  
uncomfortable. Like I was now.  
  
Buffy clung to my arm and leaned against my shoulder. Tears flowed  
gently down her cheeks, through her closed eyelids, as one of Riley's  
friends gave the eulogy. I think his name was Forrest or something.  
  
The casket was closed.  
  
Of course, I thought, that's because Riley isn't in the casket.   
  
Don't get me wrong, I knew he was dead. There's no doubt in my mind  
about that fact, but I also remember a good deal of military procedure.  
  
Riley was, no doubt, going to be given a second funeral. A real,  
military funeral, back in Iowa.  
  
I didn't think knowing that would have helped Buffy cope, so I didn't  
mention it.  
  
The rest of the night passed in a blur. I don't remember what happened  
after the service or how we ended up sitting in one of Sunnydale's  
cemeteries under the full moon.  
  
Sometimes, things just happen.  
  
I held her gently as she cried. I'm sure she blamed herself for his  
death.   
  
After he cheated on her with... well, her, Buffy had been putting  
distance between them. I don't think it was because she was angry with  
him, but it probably dealt more with her life as a slayer reaching out  
to harm those near her.  
  
He'd tried his best to make it up to her, thinking it was the incident  
that upset her though she repeatedly denied it. He tried and tried...  
and finally died trying to prove himself to her.  
  
I know people call her selfish. Hell, I've even called her that a few  
times, myself, but it's not really true. Sure, she mopes about and  
blames herself when things go wrong, but it's because she cares so much  
about people, not because she cares so much about herself.  
  
After all, it's not paranoia if the world really is out to get you.  
  
In any case, Riley chose his own path. He died fighting the good  
fight, and that had to rank high on the list of things that get you into  
heaven. Or whatever the positive afterlife is.  
  
Why were we in the cemetery?   
  
Good question. I wish I knew the answer. After we left the funeral,  
we'd wandered a bit, leaning on each other for support. I needed it  
physically, and we both needed it emotionally.   
  
Finally we'd taken a seat on one of the large, familiar, stones and  
rested, holding onto each other tightly.  
  
It's amazing how many good memories I have of cemeteries. Other kinds  
of memories, too, if I want to think about it.  
  
I don't know why it happened the way it did. Perhaps some higher power  
was having a laugh at our expense, or maybe it was fate. Perhaps it was  
just one of those freakish series of events that no one can explain.   
Whatever it was, it wasn't logical.  
  
I told her that Anya dumped me. She didn't seem upset by it. None of  
my friends had ever really loved Anya, though they didn't hate her,  
either.  
  
Sometime around then, the vamps appeared. Two of them, leftovers from  
Adam's gang bent on revenge.  
  
Buffy stood up angrily as they approached and pulled a stake from her  
purse.   
  
"You stay put." She told me, obviously thinking me too injured to  
fight. Or maybe she was just forgetting that I'd changed.   
  
In any case, I didn't stay put. Somehow, the dull pain I'd been in all  
evening faded at the mere thought of battle and I could feel new energy  
pulsing through me.   
  
The battle was long, far longer than it needed to be. Even though they  
were young and unskilled, the vamps were strong, really strong. Adam's  
cult had learned to ignore their own pain and even death in order to  
fulfill their purpose. Tonight that seemed to be, killing us.  
  
I didn't touch the disk on my wrist, not wanting to hear the infernal  
singing of the blade. I still have nightmares about that song.   
  
To my horror, I found that it sang anyway. It was faint, but I could  
feel it in my bones as I fought, hand to hand, with the vampire.   
  
Soon, I started to sing along, against my will, more or less, as we  
dueled.  
  
Time and time again, I didn't take a quick kill. Openings that even an  
armature could have pounced on went by unexploited. I know it sounds  
odd, but I wanted to fight until I forgot about Anya, Riley, and  
everything. Becoming one with the song of battle.  
  
Finally, it was over. The vamp didn't offer any more challenge, having  
grown weak and weary from the beating I was administering.  
  
Plunge and move on.  
  
We finished like dancers. My vamp backed into Buffy's and stopped  
suddenly, his back against something resisting. Buffy drove her stake  
cleanly through the both of them, creating a dual dust storm.  
  
I'd stopped singing as soon as I felt the end game upon us, but my lips  
twisted into a small smile now. That had been fun.  
  
Buffy looked at me, and I could read the same feeling in her eyes.   
She'd projected her anger, frustration, and regret onto the vampire and  
beaten it soundly. Slaying it.  
  
She smiled back at me, no longer depressed.  
  
It's amazing how therapists never tell their patients "Go kill a few  
vampires and you'll feel better." Of course, I suppose most people who  
have therapists would die trying.  
  
That thought flittered across my mind before I realized that Buffy had  
stepped in and wrapped her arms around my neck.  
  
I watched, fascinated, as she leaned in and kissed me, slowly and  
deliberately. It was like a dream. A very good dream.  
  
I'm not sure if I'd felt that way if I'd been able to see my hands.   
The blood of the vamp I'd been fighting was all over my knuckles for a  
few seconds after the it was over, and, slowly, it seeped into my skin.   
At least, I assume it happened then, too. I've seen it many times  
since. 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, etc. Even the ideas are  
probably things I've read and half forgotten. Joss owns Buffy, Xander,  
and crew.  
  
Spoilers: Late season 4. If you know who Adam is, that's about all  
there's going to be. It's kinna nonspecific.  
  
Summary: Making a deal with the devil, of sorts. The final battle  
against Adam, maybe?  
  
Author's Notice: Things are getting weirder and weirder. Hope you  
enjoy.  
  
***  
  
I took a trip to an old manor house once, when I was a kid and visiting  
relatives on the east coast. They have lots of old things out there,  
certainly more than we have out here.  
There was this one area of the gardens that fascinated me. A long  
tunnel made of ivy carefully grown up the sides of a wooden framework.   
It was cool in the shade of the plants.   
Little bits of light would filter down through the leaves, small  
patches of brilliance in the otherwise darkened tunnel.  
That's what waking up that morning felt like. My consciousness wound  
its way through an endless tunnel of ivy, dark with bits of light ever  
few feet, if such a measure can even be applied.  
Finally, I could see light ahead and knew I was ready to wake up.  
I felt someone shift against my chest.  
Anya.  
She doesn't spend the night much, I mused idly. Maybe I'm not so great  
to wake up beside.  
I inhaled deeply, savoring her scent.  
My eyes shot open immediately. Anya has always smelled like spices,  
warm and robust and darker things, but this aroma was soft and delicate  
and flowery but mixed with sweat and dirt and blood. Buffy's fragrance  
after a hard night of slaying and... stuff.  
It came back to me in a rush. I looked down and found her blond head  
innocently snuggling against my chest.  
Panic. Fear. Regret. Those barely begin to describe what I was  
feeling.   
I'd taken her trust and broken it. Taken advantage of her in her time  
of grief.  
I was going over all these things in more in my head, blaming myself  
over and over for this lapse in judgement. It wasn't the self indulgent  
blame that comes from knowing that you're sort of wrong, but full on "I  
can't live with myself" condemnation.  
She was going to kill me, that much was for certain.   
And, I realized, somewhat to my surprise, I was going to let her. I  
know that after I'd betrayed Cordelia's trust, I'd felt like a total  
heel and done my best to make it up to her. Well, initially.   
Afterward, she'd made it more than clear to me that I wasn't going to  
succeed, and I'd stayed away from her. But I don't think I'd have ever  
allowed her to actually kill me.  
Buffy could, though. And I'd thank her with my last breath. Anything  
to heal the hurt I'd caused her.  
Sometime during my melodramatic, frenzied thinking, Buffy stirred  
against me.  
I froze.  
She murmured softly and slid one of those silky hands across my chest.   
I shivered.  
After a few seconds, I could feel her freeze.   
"Xander?" Her voice sounded normal, questioning.  
"Y-yes," I stammered.  
"Did we...?"  
"Y-yes... I'm so sorry, Buffy," I knew I was babbling, but I couldn't  
help it. A last chance for the condemned to plead his case.  
"I'm not."  
"I know I took advantage of you while you were in a weak moment and I'm  
not sure that you can ever forgive me, but I'll do anything to...  
make... it... What did you say?"  
"I'm not sorry it happened."  
"R-really." Stammering again, but this time for a different reason.  
I could feel her inhale deeply, her body moving against mine.  
"Yeah."  
"B-Buffy... I love you."  
"I know, my Xander shaped friend. I love you, too."  
  
***  
  
Salvador Dali did this weird painting with melting clocks in a barren  
landscape. At least, I think it was Dali, I got a C in art. In any  
case, that's the kind of world I think I live in. Things are all  
stretched and melted and deformed, but it all seems normal to the people  
inside the painting until someone asks them what time it is.  
That's what it was like waking up beside Buffy.   
I mean, I've dreamed about it three or four thousand times, often four  
or five times in one night, and sometimes messily. Ew, not a good  
thought.  
But it was a fantasy. It's not like she's ever really showed interest  
in me. To the contrary, in fact.  
This last year, we'd been growing apart slowly, and I'd given up any  
real hope of it ever happening. Buried myself in Anya and hoped never  
to resurface.  
But I did. And it did. And she did, oh God how she did.  
We stayed in bed for hours. I don't mean in a sexual way, either. I  
started out scared, and she didn't seem to want to get up, so we just  
took our time getting out of bed.  
The fact that our clothing may or may not have survived the previous  
night probably added a bit to our hesitation. I didn't relish Buffy  
seeing me naked outside of the heat of passion, and I'm sure she didn't  
want me to see her either.   
Walking around naked in front of someone you've only just started  
sleeping with is a sure path to disaster if you're not one of the  
beautiful people.   
I know I'm no bridge troll, but I also know I'm not a beefcake. My  
high school days can attest to that. Getting right down to it, I'm  
still one in four for dating inside my own species. Considering that  
neither Willow nor Buffy had been on an actual date with me, by that  
point.  
I'm not sure if the same thought even crossed Buffy's mind. I mean,  
she's gorgeous, but that's to my eyes. Who knows how she sees herself?   
The last few hours had made it glaringly obvious to me that I didn't  
know her as well as I thought.  
Anyway, we stayed like that until almost noon. Basking in the  
afterglow of something that was four years in the making.  
I dreaded the ending. I knew when we got up, things would be  
different. She'd feel uncomfortable around me, and we'd drift apart  
and... and I might never see her again.  
But somehow, it didn't happen that way.  
Finally, I felt her shift against me, sliding up to kiss me tenderly.  
A welcome surprise. I kissed her back eagerly, my right hand reaching  
up to trace the line of her jaw.  
"Shower time," she whispered.  
"You mean you want to... we..."  
She giggled and I melted.  
"No," she bit her lip cutely and punched me very lightly. "I'm going  
to go take a shower, and THEN you can take one."  
She kissed me again softly and took my hand in hers. She guided it to  
my own face and put it over my eyes.   
"Now, no peeking."  
I dutifully covered my eyes as I felt her slide out from under the  
sheets and heard her picking up bits of clothing from the floor. After  
a minute or so, she made her way up the stairs, the creaking letting me  
know where she was the whole time.  
At last, the door opened and closed and I opened my eyes.  
The room seemed oddly empty without her.  
Without much thought, I set about picking up my scattered clothing and  
putting them, a little muddy and bloody, in the wash. Well, not the  
jacket, it was dry clean only, which probably meant it was a loss. No  
point in explaining blood stains to my dry cleaner, or my mother, for  
that matter.  
I ended up in boxer shorts and a t-shirt, sitting on my bed, nervously  
waiting for Buffy to come back down.  
I must have dozed off again, because the next thing I remember is a  
slightly damp Buffy leaning in to kiss me. She wasn't wearing anything  
besides a pair of my boxers and a button-up shirt. I don't know when  
she snagged them.  
"Your turn," she murmured as she pulled back from the kiss.  
I stared at her in confusion.  
"The shower." She giggled softly, musically.  
Somehow, I managed to stumble to the bathroom and take a shower without  
hurting myself. I don't think I was capable of thought at that point,  
so I was functioning on instinct alone.  
I stumbled back down the stairs some ten minutes later, expecting to  
find a note on my bed and no Buffy. I'd already decided, in my mind,  
how the letter would go, too.  
"Dear John, I mean, Xander, Tonight was great and all, but I'm far too  
good for you, so I've decided to leave you without ever doing whatever  
it is one has to do before they can leave someone, you know, like dating  
and stuff. Don't try to talk to me ever again as there's no way we can  
be friends after that..."   
Instead, I found Buffy going through my old photo albums, which is an  
entirely different kind of horror..  
Alright, I admit it. I'm the kind of guy who takes and keeps pictures  
of his friends. There, happy?  
She was giggling over something as I slipped up to her. I caught a  
glimpse of Willow at about age seven and realized exactly what was in  
that book.  
"You were a cute kid."  
"Sure I was..."  
"No, really. I can see why Willow dated you."  
"We never really went out, that was just a..."  
"No, I mean when you were five. She told me about it the day I met  
her."  
"Oh," I laughed nervously. Of course, this meant my "dating humans"  
track record was up to two in five. Somewhat better.   
"I, umm... if you want to look at pictures.." Give her that old Harris  
charm, I chided myself. I swear, if I'd tried to walk I'd have tripped  
over my own tongue.   
I turned and pulled a thin, newer book from the shelves where she'd  
found the other album and handed it to her.   
"This is from, you know... sophomore year."  
She put down the other, more embarrassing, book which I snagged and put  
back in its place and started to leaf through the new one.  
Page upon page of picture of me, her and Willow. Toward the front  
there were a few of Jesse, too, but that's a topic I'd rather not dredge  
up.  
"Some of these are really good."  
"Well, not all of them are my work. Willow and I used to take pictures  
like fiends and then get double prints to share with each other. I  
guess we kind of stopped as we got older, though."  
"Umm... Xander?"  
"Yes?"  
"Would you happen to know," she turned the book to face me, revealing a  
picture of her standing, lips puckered as if to receive a kiss, "why  
there are lip prints on this photograph."  
I blushed fourteen different shades of red, I'm certain, because she  
giggled.   
"I... I... I..." Yeah, pictures were a good idea.  
"Let me guess," she said, smiling and rising to her feet. "You were  
imagining doing this."  
She leaned in and kissed me, quieting my babbling.  
"Umm... yeah, something like that."  
"Something you want to tell me?"  
"Well, I fell in love the moment I laid eyes on you... and it almost  
got me killed."  
"Really?" She looked concerned, and I'll be damned if that didn't make  
me feel great.  
"Well, not really... I was skating when you walked past and ran right  
into a rail... bounced my head off the concrete a bit."  
"Poor baby," and she kissed me on the forehead.   
"Buffy, I..."  
She was nibbling on my ear.   
"God..."  
I pushed her away and back down into her seat.  
"Wait a minute, I think we need to talk."  
"Okay." She didn't sound hurt, I don't think.  
"I need to know... why... how... last night..."  
"You mean, why am I draping myself all over you when last week I  
wouldn't have even thought about it?"  
"Ouch," I winced at her insight. "And yes."  
"Well, I realized something last night. Think back to all the girls  
you've been with since I got to Sunnydale."  
I did. Briefly. Those are some rough memories.  
"Now, how many of those girls made you miserable half of the time you  
were with them?"  
"Most of them," I admitted.  
Buffy nodded. "Same here." She stopped after she said it. "I mean,  
guys, me, with."  
"So... how does this matter?"  
"Well, I know that you've always had a thing for me..."  
I blushed a bit. "I'm sorry."  
She smiled softly. "Don't be. You're not creepy stalker guy, you're  
nice crush that makes me feel better about myself guy. Anyway, I said  
to myself, 'Buffy, you're a good girl, it's not your fault that the guys  
you've been with break your heart. Xander's a good guy with the same  
problem. Why not give it a try?'"  
"Ah..."  
"Yes?"  
"So, is this 'the reason Buffy did what she did' or is it 'the  
rationalization Buffy made up for what she did?'"  
"Umm..." she blushed. I think I had her.  
"Did it have anything to do with slaying making you hor-"  
"Xander!" She blushed brightly. "How did you know about that,  
anyway?" she continued much quieter.  
"Well, ah..." Now I was the one not wanting to answer questions. 


End file.
